


Crooked Halos

by notsomagicath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Arya Stark, Angel Sansa Stark, Angst, Assassination Plot(s), Banter, Blacksmith Gendry Waters, Conspiracy, F/M, Fluff, Gendrya - Freeform, Maybe being an angel is a metaphor for being a lady, Minor Injuries, Murder, Protective Arya Stark, Protective Gendry Waters, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsomagicath/pseuds/notsomagicath
Summary: “Yes, milady,” he nods, hoping that the playful title would suffice for whoever this young woman is.“Don’t call me milady,” the woman frowns. Apparently not. “My name is Arya, and I’m here to see Cersei Lannister. My family’s corporation is considering a business deal with Iron Throne Enterprises.”“I’m afraid she’s busy mila-” Gendry cuts himself off before the title slips, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.“Well I’m afraid, Mr. Baratheon,” Arya replies, with slightly more bite to her words, seeming to relish in the jolt of surprise in Gendry’s eyes when she calls him by his last name. A name he certainly hadn’t told her. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with Ms. Lannister.”“I can pass a message along?”Gendry nearly pinches himself to make sure he’s awake, because there’s absolutely no way that he’s watching the steam and ashes of the forge condense into a coronet over Arya’s head.“Tell her,” she says, her eyes flashing and her voice ringing with an echo that should be impossible for a space this large, “That the price of heaven will pay for her voyage to hell.”
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Margaery Tyrell & Gendry Waters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Crooked Halos

Rumor has it that King’s Landing Forge is fueled by heavenly fire. Gendry Baratheon has never believed it, but the idea that some divine hand had blessed the place once is comforting in a way that no other part of the workplace is. That is, it would be if the angels were generous enough to gift their inferno to mortals. 

This world’s angels are cold. Their halos are crooked, tipped sideways by divine vengeance and an overt apathy towards the human race. Frankly, Gendry doesn’t blame them for the latter.

Cersei Lannister, the owner of the forge, is a prime example. She constantly disregards the safety of her employees in favor of profit. When her twin brother and co-owner, Jaime, lost his hand in a car accident, she forged him another of solid gold, not out of kindness or genuine concern for his well being, but to improve public relations and put up a charitable front for the world to see. And at the forefront, Cersei’s poor, injured, brother, and the helplessness he would still have if it wasn’t for her and her magnanimity. 

Privately, Gendry spoke with him, and is now well aware that Cersei pried the costs for the exceptionally expensive prosthetic from Jaime’s own bank account via monthly payments and whispered threats toward his wife Brienne. 

As the head blacksmith, Gendry is treated only slightly better than the rest of the forge workers. He gets a larger station, a new supply of tools whenever he needs them, and the charity of having weekends off. 

It’s exhausting work. The fire burns hotter than any forge he’s ever worked in, and the soot collects on every square inch of the work space, including his skin and hair. He returns to his apartment every night and watches the water run black down the drain. If he didn’t truly love his career choice, he’d be gone. 

But King’s Landing is the most famous forge in the entire country of Westeros. There’s nowhere to go from here. Cersei’s welcoming appearance is so solid that Gendry knows there’s a waiting list of people who would kill to work in his place. If they only knew the horrors of working at King’s Landing… He can’t even consider that. If he so much as breathed a word of the cruel lifestyle at the forge during the press conferences Cersei drags him to, she’d have him murdered on the spot. Whether literally or figuratively is unknown, but the Lannister family certainly has enough money to hire a hitman and cover it up. And once they disowned Jaime, Gendry is left without protection in an arena where the lions would come and eat him alive if he so much as breathed in the wrong direction. 

It’s a Tuesday, and Gendry’s cooling yet another detailed armor piece for the Red Keep Theater’s next production. It’s run by yet another Lannister sibling, Tyrion, and unlike his brother and sister, the man is decidedly undignified, constantly drunk on wine from his own vineyard and spouting mindless poetry and lewd jokes. Fortunately for him, he’s intelligent enough that Cersei hasn’t yet managed to get her unseemly sibling out of the picture. Emphasis on  _ yet _ . Knowing her, she’s probably tried to slip some poison in his wine at least three times in the last week. The man is either a strategic genius or the world’s luckiest drunk. Both options are equally likely. 

Even still, Gendry squints in the light of the forge and stares into the steam rising from the quench that he’d just dipped the breastplate into, the intricate lion turning from a molten red to a dull gold. That’s one piece down. Now for the rest of the suit. 

Gendry reaches for the next sheet of steel, but drops it back onto his work table when the flames glow a blinding white for a moment. Slowly, he pulls the somewhat clean towel from his belt and wipes his hands before rubbing his eyes. Maybe he’s been overworking himself. That must be it. There’s no other explanation for fire shifting colors right before his eyes. 

As if in response to his thoughts, the flames twist into thin columns and slowly shifts from red and orange to a gradient from gold to white. 

Maybe he’s a little more sleep-deprived than he originally thought. 

When a silhouette appears in the fire, Gendry assumes he’s lost it entirely. Then again, his imagination isn’t quite good enough to come up with what he’s seeing. The figure starts out seated, but slowly rises into a standing position, all the while keeping its dark amber-colored eyes fixed on Gendry. 

He rubs his eyes again, but the flames continue to twist.  _ Maybe if he closes his eyes for a moment it’ll just go away.  _ He tests his theory, and to his dismay, the image seems to be burned into his eyelids. 

Gendry opens his mouth to- Honestly, he’s not entirely sure what. What does he ask? Who are you?  _ What _ are you?  _ Why are you here?  _

Worst case scenario, he’ll look like a lunatic talking to the flames. 

But before he can formulate a question, the figure rises to its feet, and with one last detached glance in his direction, unfolds a pair of ember-tipped wings as the illusion collapses and disappears as the fire shifts back to red. 

\----------

By the time the weekend arrives, Gendry has fully convinced himself that the flame-whatever-it-is was some sleep-addled hallucination and that he should probably consider taking the melatonin tablets that have been sitting, unopened, on his bedside table for the last couple weeks. 

Even so, the curiosity gnaws at his subconscious, picking at every detail that he barely remembered from the night, as well as every myth from the forge’s history. 

All he’s managed to come up with is angel bullshit. 

In spite of his lack of information, he spends all his free time thinking about it, and when he falls asleep, his dreams are haunted by amber eyes and golden flames. 

\----------

He arrives at work early on Monday, much to Cersei’s approval. She shows her gratitude exactly the way you’d expect. Raised eyebrows and the smallest possible twitch of a facial muscle. At this point, Gendry’s learned to take what he can get. 

Just after his lunch break, he distractedly polishes the helmet he just finished, and his thoughts run wild. It would be more than easy to just dismiss what he saw as a fume-induced daydream, but the incident nags at him. There’s something strangely concrete about a possible delusion that lasted no more than a few seconds. No, some part of him is holding onto the belief that it was all real. 

But he still has no proof. 

\----------

Gendry starts taking the melatonin tablets. 

It’s all the same. He takes one before bed, and he sleeps just a bit better. Better sleep means better work. Better work means one more piece he can finish in a day. 

What does it matter? With every sheet of metal he cools, another appears at his work table. 

The hissing of steam sounds for the fifth time that day as Gendry cools a joint for his most recent suit of armor. Only the gods know why the Lannisters need so many. At least they would if Gendry still believed the gods exist. No, he’s come to accept that today’s gods and demons are dressed in human skin, disguised in finery and greedy eyes. 

A resounding knock sounds on the door to the forge, and Gendry yanks a towel from his belt to wipe his face and hands to look presentable for whichever high-and-mighty CEO Cersei has dragged in to strut around with. 

Much to his surprise, the woman who walks in the door is anyone but. 

She’s maybe nineteen in age, short, with striking features and shoulder-length dark hair. She’s wearing pale gray dress that drifts around her with every step she takes, jaw set and chin tilted in a way that demonstrates her certainty that she is fully in control of everything around her. However, she doesn’t look nearly tall or strong enough to open the heavy forge doors by herself, but she exudes such a power that he’s frankly afraid to ask. 

“Are you Gendry?” she asks. While her lilting accent makes it sound like a question, the fire behind him reflects in her eyes, and her expression shifts.  _ Not a question, then.  _

“Yes, milady,” he nods, hoping that the playful title would suffice for whoever this young woman is.

“Don’t call me milady,” the woman frowns.  _ Apparently not.  _ “My name is Arya, and I’m here to see Cersei Lannister. My family’s corporation is considering a business deal with Iron Throne Enterprises.”

“I’m afraid she’s busy mila-” Gendry cuts himself off before the title slips, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Well  _ I’m afraid _ , Mr. Baratheon,” Arya replies, with slightly more bite to her words, seeming to relish in the jolt of surprise in Gendry’s eyes when she calls him by his last name.  _ A name he certainly hadn’t told her. _ “I have an urgent matter to discuss with Ms. Lannister.” 

“I can pass a message along?”

Gendry nearly pinches himself to make sure he’s awake, because there’s absolutely no way that he’s watching the steam and ashes of the forge condense into a coronet over Arya’s head. 

“Tell her,” she says, her eyes flashing and her voice ringing with an echo that should be impossible for a space this large, “That the price of heaven will pay for her voyage to hell.”

\----------

“That’s all she told me, Ms. Lannister,” Gendry says, nodding along as Cersei interrogates him about the girl.

“You’re sure?” Cersei is uncharacteristically disturbed, pacing a line across what is probably an exceedingly expensive rug, “It told you nothing else?”

“It? If I may, Ms. Lannister, Miss Arya is clearly human, and it seems impolite to refer to her as such.” 

Why he’s defending some girl he’d never seen in his life, he has no idea, but this is less about manners than about human decency. Of course he doesn’t say it out loud, but he doesn’t fail to notice Cersei’s lips twist unpleasantly at his protests. 

“ _ It  _ is not human, Mr. Baratheon, and while I have no need to explain myself to you, you would do well to know that. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”  _ No. _

“Good. You are dismissed. Get back to work.” 

Gendry strides out the door, and as he returns to breathing in the smoke and steam of the forge, the image of an ashen halo won’t leave his mind.

\----------

“You’re back.”

“And you’re considerably less polite this time.”

Honestly, Gendry can’t tell if Arya’s joking, and her carefully indifferent expression won’t tell him. 

“Pardon me, milady,” he grins, bowing low and grunting slightly in pain when his forehead bumps the edge of his station. 

In response, Arya only rolls her eyes, but strides across the forge until her hands are planted right in the middle of his workspace. 

“Listen to me, Gendry. I’m not here for some lighthearted banter. I’m here because Cersei Lannister needs to die.”

_ Well, that’s certainly one way to change the subject.  _

“Take a number and get in line,” Gendry looks over his shoulder before continuing at a slightly lower volume, “There’s plenty of people who want her dead. We’ve all learned to accept that Cersei Lannister is invulnerable and that’s just how it’s always going to be. I’m sorry, but there’s probably hundreds of us who have fantasized about murder, and there’s a reason why the ones who didn’t act on it are the ones who aren’t dead or imprisoned. As much as she deserves it, murder is illegal, for what I hope is obvious reasons. You’ll have to ask someone else about this.”

“You don’t understand. She has to die, and  _ I’m _ going to kill her.” 

“I’m sorry, but Cersei practically runs this city. How are you going to get away with it? Unless you have some sort of death wish, in which case this isn’t the answer.” 

“Don’t be foolish, Gendry. I am death. And I will not allow Cersei Lannister to go unpunished.”

_ She’s out of her mind.  _ The minute the thought forms in his head, Arya’s gray eyes snap up to stare up at him as if she could hear every word. And she seems to realize exactly where his mind will go after that.

“You’d do well to not underestimate me.”

“It’s just…” Gendry curses himself internally as Arya’s right eyebrow rises higher and higher with every word, “You’re just…”

“I’m just…?”

“I don’t know. Someone of your status would typically not be doing this sort of… dirty work? You said that your family had a business deal with the Lannisters, which means you come from some rich family that probably uses multiple sizes of silverware at every meal and goes to galas once a week. I’d think you’d hire a hitman or something.” 

Arya’s lips twist together indignantly and Gendry almost laughs at how the harsh expression sits on her youthful face, but once he hears her sigh frustratedly, he contains it. 

_ Is he imagining it, or is the air around him getting warmer?  _

And not just the heat of the forge, it’s almost as if the room itself is burning. Gendry tugs a wet towel from his belt and presses it to his face in hopes of cooling himself down, but the heat only gets worse and when he pulls the cloth from his eyes, he falls flat on his back onto the soot-covered floor.

Whoever he thought Arya was, he is completely wrong. 

Because standing in front of him is the same inferno from the fire all those weeks ago. 

Arya is coated in a thin layer of flames, and even her white dress seems to be set ablaze. At the stunned look on his face, the edge of her lip tugs into a smirk and she slowly walks around the counter and sits right in the middle of the forge’s embers. Gendry has barely caught his breath before he turns and watches in astonishment as the flames around her turn golden and condense into a pair of wings that are nearly the length of the forge. And just over her head, he barely gets a glance at a silvery halo. He’s forced to look away before the light blinds him.

“Now,” Arya smiles as the air around her burns, “Have you changed your mind?”

\----------

_ There had always been something off.  _

“I thought I imagined you.” 

“I didn’t anticipate that, I admit. I forgot that your kind are so cynical these days.”

“You say that as if you’re not.”

“Cynical or human?”

“Both.”

“Neither.”

Gendry balks at this and can’t properly formulate a reply. Arya reaches into his barrell of cooling water and dips her fingertips into it, spraying it onto her own face, smiling grimly as the water hisses and turns to glowing steam the instant it reaches within six inches of the ashes that circle her brow. 

“I’m a heavenly being. What your kind would call an angel.”

“I thought all of you left us long ago.” Gendry can’t find anything else to say. He isn’t even sure if she’s telling the truth. 

“We did,” Arya says. Her eyes show no regret. “And I won’t be here for long.”

“Are you really here to kill Cersei or was that a lie too?”

“That was true.”

Gendry’s nods and inches backwards as her grin turns feral. 

“Why?”

“She stands convicted of kidnapping.”

“I would think that that hardly merits a heavenly intervention,” Gendry protests.

“She stands convicted of kidnapping a citizen of heaven.” 

“ _ Oh _ .”

Gendry flinches when he sees at the unmasked fury in Arya’s eyes. 

“Sansa disappeared six months ago during a check-in on Casterly Rock,” her voice hardens, and the closest thing to emotion he’s ever seen from her fills her eyes, “We searched the entire castle, and found her ichor on the floor. We burned the tower to the ground…” she stops, and her lips twist, “Cersei dragged her out less than an hour before we arrived.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Arya looks genuinely confused, “You had no part in it.” 

Gendry unconsciously reaches out and places a reassuring hand on her forearm, and Arya stares blankly at the unfamiliar gesture as he responds. 

“I- I don’t know… I’m… I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

“As am I, Gendry,” she replies, but she wipes any traces of grief from her face faster than he can blink. 

“You know…” he cautions, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the skin on the inside of her wrist, “You can feel something. Emotion… it’s only human.” 

“I just told you,” Arya says coldly, rising to her feet and turning away from him, “I’m not human. And I don’t want to be.” 

\----------

As the two of them discover over the next few weeks, Cersei Lannister’s schedule is near impossible to find. Maybe it’s because she adds and cancels meetings constantly, or maybe it’s because she knows full well how many people have her on their personal hitlists. Honestly, either one is entirely plausible. 

It’s far too suspicious for either of them to approach Cersei herself for the information, so it leaves them with her bodyguard, Gregor Clegane, nicknamed the Mountain, or her personal assistant and favorite advisor, Qyburn. Gendry can count the number of times he’s heard the Mountain speak on one hand, and Qyburn… rumor has it that he’s old and senile, and he laughs a little too hard at his own jokes about experimenting on the Iron Throne Enterprise’s rivals. Neither of them present a clear path to Cersei’s downfall. 

That is, until Margaery Tyrell waltzes into the forge. The brunette, sister to the CEO of Highgarden Inc., is Cersei’s soon-to-be daughter-in-law, engaged to her second son, Tommen. There had been a mild scandal around their relationship, especially when Margaery had previously attended multiple Lannister family galas with Tommen’s older brother Joffrey, but much to the press’ surprise, their love seems to be entirely genuine, and, to Gendry’s satisfaction, entirely independent of Cersei’s influence. 

Even better, Margaery’s reputation is absolutely spotless, and she hates her future mother-in-law with a burning passion. 

“Margaery,” Gendry greets her, “allow me to introduce you to Miss…”

“Arya,” Arya grins and shakes her hand, “Arya Stark.” 

“Lovely to meet you,” Margaery straightens up out of the handshake and smiles slyly at her, “From what I’ve heard about you, I’m sure we’re going to be wonderful friends.” 

The matching smirk Arya sends back is mildly terrifying. 

“All good things, I hope.” 

“Of course, Gendry speaks highly of you.” 

“How may I help you, Ms. Tyrell?” Gendry returns to formality for a moment in an attempt to get back on topic. 

“I’ve told you a hundred times, Gendry, just call me Margaery. And don’t tell me you keep forgetting because you just said it.”  
“Right, sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize, silly,” she ruffles his hair affectionately like one would to a toddler, “Anyway, I’m here mostly to check in. I know I’m supposed to pick up my hair piece for the wedding next week, but I wanted to look at the designs one more time.”

“Sure.” Gendry jogs over to the other side of the forge where he keeps his blueprints, and pulls a small scroll from the pile, rolling it out on the one empty table left in the entire room. “Well?” he waves them over, “You coming?”

Arya and Margaery sigh in unison, glancing towards each other immediately afterwards and laughing before crossing the forge to where Gendry is standing. 

“So, I ended up editing the design slightly, because I felt that the original would be a little heavy, considering the scale of the wedding you two are planning. I split the piece in two, and made them into clips instead of having them more or less tied into your hair. Each clip would have two roses, each plated with flakes of gold and rose gold, and I’ll have gold leaves around each flower.”

Margaery smooths her hands over the blueprint to flatten it and stares raptly at the sketches, lifting her right hand to cover her mouth. 

“Gendry… these are beautiful.”

Arya circles around the table to stand beside Gendry, nearly pressed against his side in order to see. Almost nothing shifts in her expression, but Gendry notes that she doesn’t take her eyes off the design for a second. 

“Mmmmmm, they’re alright,” Arya teases, and Gendry mock frowns, pouting at her until she laughs lightly and relents, “I don’t need to inflate your ego, but yes, she’s right. They’re stunning.” 

“Thanks.”  _ So are you. _ The thought follows his response so seamlessly that Gendry makes a decidedly undignified noise to keep the words at bay, receiving strange looks from both girls in return. (Arya’s is mildly concerned and confused, and Margaery’s is a knowing smile that makes him shift uneasily on his feet.)

“Well,” Margaery says briskly, “These designs are perfect, as always. You have my approval to proceed. Thank you very much, and I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” Gendry says, but Arya shoots him a look that says  _ This is our chance. We need her help.  _ He tenses his lips and the girl takes his hand and squeezes it. The gesture is too intimate for her to know exactly what it means, but Gendry simply marvels at how small and delicate her hands are, and lets himself enjoy it, just for a moment. 

“Margaery,” Arya calls, and the brunette turns with a friendly smile, “Actually, we have one more thing to discuss with you.” 

\----------

“I’m honestly flattered that you’d come to me, out of all people,” Margaery says, glancing at both of them, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she notes the tense rise of Gendry’s shoulders, “But personally, I like to know the reason someone needs to die before I become an accessory to murder.”

“ _ That’s _ your only problem with this?” Gendry asks incredulously, “I thought that you’d have more issues with it.” 

“If you thought that I’d say no, or that I’d report you, you wouldn’t have asked me in the first place. Besides, I’m not necessarily Cersei’s favorite person, and she doesn’t make much of an effort to endear herself to me.” 

“You don’t want to do this because she simply annoys you,” Arya states matter-of-factly, “What do you get out of this?”

“Well, for ambition’s sake, of course, especially when Loras is, in all likelihood, set to run the company for the rest of his life and live happily ever after with his doting husband, having a hand in the Lannister corporations would be nice. And not having a domineering mother-in-law trying to push Tommen around as she always does would be a plus,” Margaery’s nose wrinkles in distaste, and her smile turns horrifyingly cheery “Oh, and the fact that Cersei Lannister had my grandmother killed might warrant just a little bit of revenge. I don’t see why I couldn’t pull a few strings.” 

Arya nods, but Gendry can only gape at her.

The news of Olenna Tyrell’s poisoning had been possibly the most talked-about event in the last ten years, the woman having been the CEO of Highgarden Inc. for over fifty years, well earning her title of the “Queen of Thorns” with her shrewd tongue and cutthroat mindset. The entire Tyrell family had been up-in-arms, hiring dozens of private investigators to find out how the tragedy had come to pass, but all leads led to Cersei Lannister, and, to no one’s surprise, those leads went cold almost as quickly as they were found. The Westerlands police department had ruled every test result as “inconclusive”, and soon enough, the case was shoved under the messy stacks of paperwork in the evidence locker. 

“The justice system failed you,” Arya says, and Margaery presses her lips together grimly. 

“There is no justice when Cersei Lannister lives.”

A strange light comes into Arya’s eyes, conveying a promise to Margaery that if she had anything to do with it, the system would be seeing Cersei’s absence very soon. 

“Cersei kidnapped my…” she struggles for the right word, something truthful that won’t show her true identity, “my sister, Sansa. She disappeared at Casterly Rock about six months ago, and my… family… we tried to save her, but we were too late.”

Arya’s chin dips, and Margaery takes her into her arms in seconds, rubbing soothing circles into her back and murmuring comforting words in her ear. By the time she pulls away, Margaery’s eyes are shiny and Arya’s gray eyes gleam with a silver sheen. The shorter girl is quick to wipe her eyes.

_ You can show emotion, _ Gendry thinks, and he locks eyes with her, trying to tell her what he can’t say in front of Margaery.  _ Human or not, you deserve to feel. _

Arya walks towards him and stands directly in front of him, staring nearly straight up at him. So close that, if Gendry shifted forward just a little, he could take her into his arms. He settles for brushing his fingers over her jaw, and she leans into his hand before straightening with a panic-stricken jolt. He immediately draws back and tries not to flinch when he sees Margaery studying them. 

“So…” Gendry asks, prying his gaze off of Arya to look Margaery in the eyes, “Are you in?”

“Cersei has spent decades spilling blood. Let her drown in it.” 

\----------

The night before they execute the plan, Arya is perched on the kitchen counter as Gendry paces back and forth.

“Again,” she repeats. 

“At 7:15 PM, Cersei will leave the office for Tommen and Margaery’s house. She will arrive at 7:50 with traffic and 7:35 without. At that time of night, chances are she'll be at the tail end of rush hour, and get there closer to 7:50. Tommen will be delayed at work, so Margaery will insist that the two of them get to the theater on their own and meet him there. They will arrive at 8:20, and be in their seats at 8:30. The curtain will open at 8:45, and then you will have an hour and fifteen minutes to free Sansa as quietly as possible before you need to be at the theater for intermission at 10:00. Margaery will keep Cersei distracted and Tyrion will have the ushers lock them out. Then you and Sansa will step in, kill Cersei, and I will lead Margaery to safety. By the time the show is over at 11:25, we’ll all be long gone and Cersei Lannister will be dead.” 

Arya stares at him, and something mixed with confusion flashes in her eyes. She leans towards Gendry, eyes calculating. His breath catches in his throat when she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. The look in her eyes seems as if she’s watching someone die in front of her, but she blinks and her face turns cold. 

“Again.”

\----------

“Curtain’s up,” Tyrion’s voice is distorted slightly by the phone call. “You have an hour and fifteen minutes.” 

Arya is moving before Gendry ends the call. She had placed a few throwing knives into Gendry’s belt, keeping only one to slip into her boot. There’s a handgun holstered to her thigh, and another on his belt. And in his hands rests a nail bat, weighted with steel for more leverage. 

Frankly, Gendry thinks they should have as much protection as they can get. Cersei’s bodyguards are ruthless, and The Mountain is rumored to sleep in a bulletproof vest. Still, Arya insists that they pack light, and focus on the extraction before picking any fights.  _ It’s always better to be prepared,  _ he had protested, but she only looked him dead in the eyes and told him  _ I’ll handle everything.  _

He knows better than to dispute it, but that doesn’t stop him from looping a rounding hammer into his belt. 

\----------

Gendry rounds the corner Cersei’s mansion and winces when the tires screech. Arya, on the other hand, doesn’t flinch, and instead checks the safety of her gun three more times before sliding it back into the holster. The second he puts the parking brake on, she throws the car door open and runs up the front steps. 

“Arya, wait-” Gendry calls after her, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. 

The golden double doors slam open, and the windows on either side shatter on impact, spraying glass shards all over the front lawn and into the house. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Inconspicuous my ass.” 

He rubs a hand over his eyes, shaking his head.  _ This is going to be a disaster.  _

_ Wait, shit- _

Gendry jumps out of the car door and sprints after her. 

\----------

“Sansa?”

Arya’s calls echo through the high-ceilinged hallways of the Lannister mansion. 

“Sansa?”

A knock and a cry sound and Gendry takes off in that direction, tugging the forge hammer from his belt and skidding dangerously around a corner in his rush to get to her.

“ARYA.” 

With every corner he turns, he shatters every vase and shreds every painting. If something happened to Arya- If she- 

Gendry is numb. He feels nothing as he slams open doors and cuts open walls. He takes out a beam in the hallway and a piece of drywall crumbles on the floor behind him. 

_ Find Arya. Find her.  _

The scene he finds in Cersei’s study forces him to stagger back into the hall. The room is in tatters, the heavy table in splinters, book spines smoldering on the shelves. Pieces of metal are strewn all over the floor, some nearly three feet thick, carved with elaborate sigils and symbols. 

And on the floor, curled in each other’s arms, are Arya and another girl, with startlingly red hair that drapes all the way to the floor. 

Slowly, Arya turns, and there are silver tear tracks down her face, staining her lips as she smiles softly up at him. 

“Gendry,” she says, and her voice echoes in his ears. 

The other girl turns from where her face had been pressed to Arya’s shoulder. She looks to be maybe two or three years older than Arya, and her tears dot the fabric of her pale pink dress with silver. She is absolutely exhausted, and she’s bleeding something golden from a cut down the line of her chin. Still, she rises slowly to her feet and tattered wings emerge from beneath her hair, still long enough to brush the ground even as she stands. Arya places a firm hand on the girl’s arm when a long splinter flies into her hand, pointed straight at Gendry’s throat. 

“Who are you?” she asks flatly, acknowledging Arya’s hand with a nod before turning her eyes right back to Gendry’s face. 

“My name is Gendry.” 

“Lannister?”

“No,” Gendry assures her, and the girl’s wings relax slightly, but her posture remains ramrod straight. “Baratheon.” 

“Sansa,” she says carefully, still studying him the way one would a strange creature that they find in the woods. 

“Arya’s told me a lot about you,” he replies dumbly, before a teasing eyebrow raise from said girl lets him know how creepy that sounds. “Wait! I mean… we- she-”

“It’s thanks to him that I was able to find you,” Arya cuts in. 

“Arya, you’re giving me too much credit, you-”

“ _ He _ is the reason,” she says firmly, making direct eye contact with Gendry before turning back to Sansa. 

With the confirmation from Arya, Sansa’s shoulders immediately relax, and she turns to Gendry with a softened look in her eyes. 

“Then I owe you a debt, Gendry Baratheon.” 

“You owe me nothing.” 

Sansa looks him up and down and glances sideways at Arya. 

“He is different than the rest. Better.” 

Arya doesn’t reply, but Gendry can’t resist speaking.

“I’m not.”

Sansa turns her steely-eyed gaze on him in a silent challenge. The words start pouring out of him like a dam being broken. 

“I’m no better than the rest. Yes, maybe there are humans out there more selfish than me, more greedy, full of wrath and cruelty and pride. Yes, someone took you and locked you away, and yes, you suffered greatly at her hands. But humanity is so much more. We are full of emotion, of love, of joy, and you wouldn’t be free if it weren’t for the protectiveness of Margaery Tyrell or Tyrion Lannister, the brother of the very woman who trapped you here. I know that angels would sooner tear their halos in two rather than experience them and I know there is nothing I can say to convince you that maybe we are worth a little care but if you insist on owing me a debt, I want you to feel. Just once.” Sansa looks shell-shocked, and Arya’s expression mirrors hers as Gendry turns to her. “You too.” 

For a moment, he considers that the chances of him being struck down on the spot may be higher than anticipated. 

That is, until the two angels nod slowly and sink to the floor. 

Gendry can only watch the two girls remain motionless, faces in their hands. Sansa is the first to look up, and her hands and face are stained silver from her tears. 

She opens her mouth as if to speak, but instead stands, and with a quick kiss to Arya’s hair, she excuses herself from the room. 

Arya’s eyes meet his moments later, and there are silver droplets still suspended in her eyelashes. 

“When I ran in,” Gendry says, “I-” He stops to take a breath. “I was so angry, but I couldn’t  _ feel  _ it. I just kept running and destroying everything in my path, and I don’t think I’ve come back to myself yet, but… I don’t know…”

“What are you saying?” Arya breathes, and she looks almost scared. 

“I don’t know how any of this works,” he says, gesturing towards her wings and the runes scattered on the floor. “But I do know that I love you, and I want to be with you, and if that means finding some way to be like you then I’m all for trying.”

“Gendry-”

“And I don’t know if humans can become angels, and Sansa offered me a favor and I spent it, but now that I think about it-”

“GENDRY.” 

He freezes at the sound of her voice and presses his lips together tightly, looking down at the floor.  _ He’s got it all wrong. He shouldn’t have brought it up. How stupid-  _

His spiraling is interrupted when Arya tilts his chin up and kisses him. 

“Wha-” he murmurs against her lips as she pulls away, a small smile on her face. 

“I don’t want you to ascend.”

Gendry reels as though he’s been slapped. 

“But I…” he trails off. When he finishes the thought, his voice comes out hoarse. “I thought that would be what you wanted.”

“Why?”

_ Why?  _

_ Because Arya wouldn’t love someone like him.  _

“But I would.” 

He chokes as he remembers her first day at the forge.  _ You’d do well to not underestimate me. _ A response to words he never said. But if she knew that, then… Every thought. Every moment. Every time he wanted to reach out and take her into his arms. She heard everything. She knew everything. Gendry feels stripped bare, a smoldering heart in his hands. 

“You never told me you could read minds.” His voice is hoarse, and he can’t keep eye contact with her. 

“It occured to me that if I told you that maybe those thoughts would stop.” 

“You-” _ wanted this?  _

“Yes.” 

Gendry meets her eyes, and sees that Arya has shifted back to her human form, the legs of her navy blue jumpsuit shredded up to her knees, hem still smoking. She stands and pulls him to stand in front of her, one hand in his and the other on his shoulder. 

“After all this time I’ve spent searching for a part of my family, I hadn’t anticipated finding more. I planned to return to heaven immediately afterward with Sansa and never come back. But you… You anchor me here. You keep my feet on the ground and for once in my many years of life I don’t miss flying. For the first time, I’ve found freedom in my own home. And I’ve found my home in  _ you _ , Gendry.” 

“But Sansa-” 

“Sansa is my blood. My sister. My family. I would never abandon her. But why should I tear myself in two? I can split my time between heaven and Earth and have a different kind of love in two hearts.”

Sansa then appears in the doorway, smudged silver still on her jaw, but looking more put together than she had a few minutes ago. 

“I willingly share Arya’s affections with you, Gendry, as long as you promise me that you’ll make her happy.” 

“Gladly.” 

“Well then,” Sansa places a satisfied smile on her face. “I must be going.” She runs a hand through Arya’s hair and presses a kiss to her forehead before she is gone in a column of flames. 

Gendry is still blinking away the temporary blindness from the light when a hand comes to rest on his elbow. 

“Let’s go home,” Arya says. 

“After you, milady,” he says with an extravagant bow. 

Arya smothers her laughter all the way back to the car. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! If you want to come say hi, my Tumblr is @youve-cath-to-be-kitten-me! (+Writing Blog! @notsomagicath) Thank you so much for reading! ~ Cath


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